Shadows of the Emerald City

by J. W. Schnarr

  Robin’s hand went instinctively to his own chest. He could feel his heart thumping below the skin. He had known nothing but sorrow since the day his daughter’s name was drawn in the Munchkin lottery. Every dream he and Cordelia had ever dreamt had turned into a nightmare. There was no future he could envision besides one of pain. It would, in truth, be a blessing to relinquish his heart to this old wizard.

  And what of the future? What of his life with Dot once she was returned to him? If I don’t do it, Robin thought, then Dot will never have a future. There is no choice. I must do this.

  “Fine,” Robin said. “I will give you my heart.”

  “Fine,” the Crooked Wizard said. “I will help you rescue your daughter.”

  The Crooked Wizard lived in a cave in the Gillikin Country, and it was to this cave that he and Robin traveled once their arrangement was struck. By the time they reached the cave, the Crooked Wizard had arrived at a plan for rescuing Dot.

  “Let’s hear it,” Robin said.

  “There’s no possible way we can defeat the witch in her castle,” the Crooked Wizard said. “She is far too powerful. Even for me.”

  “What can we do then?”

  The wizard grinned wickedly.

  “This is the brilliant part. We lure her out of the castle.”

  Robin thought about it.

  “If she’s so powerful,” he asked after a few minutes, “won’t she be able to win no matter where we battle her?”

  The Crooked Wizard glared at Robin.

  “Of course, don’t be an imbecile. We have no hope of defeating the witch, what we’re really trying to do is buy time so that you can free your daughter. That is what you bargained for, correct?”

  Robin nodded slowly.

  “Well then, listen carefully and try not to say anything stupid.” The Crooked Wizard mumbled something under his breath that sounded like a curse. “We’ll lure the witch out of her castle by writing her a nasty letter from the Mayor of Munchkinville. We’ll call her a cunt, women hate that. She’ll come with all her giants, ready to squash those little bastards. Meanwhile, you can sneak into her castle, rescue your daughter, and then do whatever it is fathers and daughters do.”

  Robin stopped in the middle of the road.

  “It’ll never work,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “The witch and her cronies will overrun the town in minutes. I won’t have enough time to rescue Dot.”

  The Crooked Wizard turned back, staring at him incredulously.

  “You’re not worried about the Munchkins, are you?”

  Robin shook his head. “They sacrificed my wife and daughter to protect themselves. As far as I’m concerned, they can all burn in hell.”

  The Crooked Wizard smiled.

  “Very well,” he said. He reached into his pockets and removed a glass jar full of white powder. “This is the Powder of Life. With it, I can bring to life anything I desire.” He gave the jar a gentle shake.

  “I don’t understand…”

  “I told you,” snapped the wizard, “if you have nothing intelligent to say, then keep your mouth shut. We will go through with my plan, but in order to buy you some more time, we will build an army to distract the witch.”

  “Build an army?” Robin asked. “From what.”

  The Crooked Wizard thought about it for a minute, and then his eyes sparkled.

  “From straw.” He began to laugh, a wild, psychotic laugh that made Robin’s hair stand on end. This man was dangerous, perhaps as dangerous as the Wicked Witch of the East herself, but Robin had to trust him.

  Finally, they came to the black mouth of the cave.

  “This is it,” said the old man. He pointed to an opening that was draped in hairy vines that might have been poison ivy.

  Robin closed his eyes, his thoughts tracing back to the little cottage he had shared with Dot and Cordelia. How long ago those days seemed, and in truth, only a matter of days had passed.

  They stepped inside the cave. It was a terrible place–dank and wet and reeking of bat guano. The chamber was piled high with books and crates full of spell components. Animal cages covered nearly every surface–was that a pig?–and the stench inside the cavern was unbearable. Several dusty shelves lined the walls, and upon these Robin observed what appeared to be human body parts floating in cloudy yellow liquid. A small, rusted cage rested upon a desk in the center of the chamber. Within the cage was a large black crow that cawed demonically when the Crooked Wizard entered the room.

  “Abra,” the old man said with something like tenderness in his voice. He produced a large insect from a pocket of his robes. The creature’s legs raced as the Crooked Wizard dangled it over the bars of the cage. The crow flapped its wings and squawked until its master dropped the writhing insect into its mouth.

  “Come on,” said the Crooked Wizard. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  The scarecrow stared at Robin with vacant, unblinking eyes. It had a puzzled expression on its burlap face–an expression better suited for a jester than a soldier. The first of the twenty scarecrows Robin had assembled wore a veteran’s scowl, but as the days wore on, Robin’s attention to detail waivered. And, quite frankly, he wasn’t much of an artist to begin with.

  Now his task was almost complete. Nineteen scarecrows lay scattered all about the tiny cave, and this one, dressed in a suit of blue clothes, lay atop a wooden table. Robin dipped his paintbrush into a can of black and finished painting the eyes.

  “It’s done,” he said. “That’s the last of them.”

  The Crooked Wizard, who was sitting behind his desk, looked up from a spell book. His pointed nose and prominent forehead gave him the look of a bird of prey. He wore small, round spectacles perched on the end of his nose. “Took you long enough,” he said.

  “It would have been easier if you would have helped,” Robin mumbled.

  “I heard that,” said the Crooked Wizard. “And you must remember, we each have our own role to play. I’ve been preparing the spells that will bring our army to life.”

  “I thought that powder was going to do that.” Robin lifted the scarecrow from the table and leaned it against one wall of the cave. His back was to the wizard.

  “It will,” said the old man. “But there are some magic words involved, and they must be said with great precision. And there is the matter of our little arrangement…”

  Robin shivered as he thought of the bargain they’d agreed to. Unconsciously, he placed his right hand over his heart.

  “When?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  “What was that?”

  “When do you mean do to do it?” Robin said, this time loud enough to be heard. “When will you take my heart?”

  “Once you’ve been reunited with your daughter,” the Crooked Wizard said. “I’ll allow you a chance to hold her one last time.”

  “Last time? But she’ll be free…”

  The Crooked Wizard grinned wickedly.

  “You’re planning on stealing from the Wicked Witch of the East. Even if you succeed, and believe me, that will be a miracle, the chances of you being able to hide with your girl in peace are practically non-existent.” He leaned forward, seeming to enjoy this a little too much for Robin’s comfort.

  “She will search for you,” he continued. “Orpah will never rest until she finds and destroys you.”

  Instinctively, Robin knew he was right. “What can I do?”

  The Crooked Wizard tugged on his white beard.

  “There is something.” He motioned to a distant corner of the room, where a heavy blanket covered a huge picture frame. Robin walked to the frame and tugged on the blanket. It slipped away, revealing a dusty mirror.

  “What is it?”

  The Crooked Wizard came up behind Robin. He smelled worse than the cave, if that was possible. “A portal to the outside world–a place where all the magic has died.”

  “Another world?” Robin had never heard of such a thing.


  “Actually, it’s part of this world,” the Crooked Wizard explained. “The Land of Oz has been hidden from the eyes of the rest of the world. If you take your daughter there, to live as an ordinary, albeit short, human, she will most likely be safe from Orpah. Of course, you can never truly be safe in this world, and people usually have a way of returning to the place where they started. In any case, the choice is yours. Once you return from Orpah’s castle, I will claim your heart and your ability to lovingly raise a child will certainly be compromised.”

  The Crooked Wizard smiled again. “Now, let’s bring this army to life.”

  The Crooked Wizard stood over the last of the straw men. He pinched something from a vial that hung around his neck and sprinkled the white powder over the scarecrow. Next, the old man shoved his left pinky finger into the air and said “Weaugh!” Then, waving his right hand over his heard, he pointed his right thumb upward and said “Teaugh!” The air in the cave began to tingle as the wizard pushed both hands over his head, spread out all his fingers and said “Peaug!”

  Tiny flecks of powder began to glow all over the scarecrow. The straw man sat up, looked around, and then smiled stupidly at the old man.

  “Are you my father?” the scarecrow asked.

  “Of course not,” snapped the wizard. “Don’t ask such foolish questions you brainless sack of hay.” The Crooked Wizard grabbed the scarecrow by the arm and flung him toward the door of the cave, where the rest of his brothers stood waiting. The youngest of their lot stumbled into the company, and several of the straw men toppled to the floor. They were up again in a second, brushing each other off and all the while jabbering.

  “So fine to meet you.”

  “And you also.”

  “Say, does anyone have an idea what we’re doing here?”

  “Shut up,” the Crooked Wizard ordered. The army fell silent. “This is why I hate using this stupid spell,” he mumbled. “Everything the Powder of Life animates turns out to be a complete moron. Now, I want the lot of you to stand there and keep your traps shut. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. Am I understood?”

  The scarecrows, as one, nodded silently.

  “Now that’s done, it’s time to work on the letter.” The Crooked Wizard sat down at his desk, drew a sheet of paper from a drawer, and began to write. After scratching for a few minutes, he handed the letter to Robin.

  The munchkin took the letter and scanned it. It read:

  Dear Orpah,

  As Mayor of Munchkinland, it is my duty to inform you that we will no longer stand for your tyranny. We have sacrificed our own children to your wickedness, but no more. From now on, the Munchkins will stand against you and your cruelty. Though it means our deaths, we declare that we would rather die than to live as your slaves. Our agreement has come to an end. You are a fucked up cunt bitch, and I hope you die. The next time you appear in Munchkinville, we will consider it an act of war.

  Sincerely,

  Mayor Torin

  “What do you think?” the Crooked Wizard asked.

  Robin considered for a moment.

  “I think it will provoke war,” he said.

  “Grand.” The Crooked Wizard snatched the paper and refolded it.

  “What happens next?” Robin asked.

  The Crooked Wizard moved to Abra’s cage. The crow began flapping its wings and pacing frantically as the old man opened the cage door.

  “What a pretty bird you are,” he hissed. “Will you do me a little favor my pet?”

  The bird leapt through the open door of the cage and fluttered to the wizard’s shoulder with two flaps of its wings. The Crooked Wizard removed something that looked like a worm from the fathomless depths of his pockets and dangled the treat before the crow. The bird immediately swallowed the worm, and the old man’s fingers up to his knuckles.

  With his thumb and index finger still buried in the crow’s mouth, the Crooked Wizard stared intently into the bird’s eyes.

  “Take this letter to Orpah,” he ordered.

  As her master removed his fingers, the crow croaked something that might have been “I will.” She seized the letter with her beak and exploded into flight. Robin watched as she soared from the cave and into the Gillikin country beyond.

  “Now it’s your turn,” the Crooked Wizard said. Robin glanced back at the old man and saw him gliding toward the hog pen at the far side of the cave. The creature’s presence within the small space was likely the source –at least one of the sources– of the horrendous stench. Still, this was the Crooked Wizard’s plan, and without him Robin would likely be still sitting in a waiting room in the Emerald City. He took a few hesitant steps in that direction.

  “Behold the Pigasus, the most marvelous, wonderful and otherwise incredible creature in all the Land of Oz.” The Crooked Wizard gestured sardonically into the hog pen, and he noticed something he hadn’t seen before. The creature, gray with dried mud and shit, had wings.

  “What the hell am I going to do with that?” Robin asked. He hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but somehow the words spilled out of him anyway. The Crooked Wizard spun on him in instant.

  “Steinbeck here is going to fly you to Orpah’s castle,” he snapped. “That is, if you treat him with the respect he deserves. Otherwise, you can walk there, but I think the witch will probably be back by the time you arrive. The choice is yours.”

  Robin sighed. The idea of riding upon that vile creature was appalling, but what other choice did he have?

  “Fine. That’s fine. Let’s do this.”

  “I’m pleased you see it that way,” said the Crooked Wizard. He unlatched the door of the hog pen and started making kissing noises at Steinbeck. The Pigasus followed the old man out of the pen and through the cluttered mess of the cave. Once they passed through the gate of poison ivy they paused in a small clearing just outside.

  “What now?” Robin asked.

  The Crooked Wizard rolled his eyes.

  “Get on the Pigasus and fly away.”

  “I mean, how do I control him. Her? And where do I go?” It took all of Robin’s restraint not to lash out at the old man. Why did he have to be so difficult?”

  “Just get on his back, tell him where you want to go, and hang on.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Robin threw one leg over the animal’s back and settled on top of the pigasus. He leaned forward, wrapped his arms around its neck, and spoke into its ear.

  “Listen now you rancid beast, take me to the castle of the Wicked Witch of the East.”

  Robin was amazed at the rhyme that came out of his mouth. He looked at the Crooked Wizard as the pigasus began flapping its wings.

  “I almost forgot,” the old man said. “So long as you’re on Steinbeck’s back, everything you say will come out in Poesy.”

  “Does Poesy mean I’ll speak in rhyme? Watch out, Steinbeck, for that pine.”

  They were now several yards above the ground and moving east. The Pigasus swerved violently, dodging a large tree. Soon they were high above the ground, flying headlong toward the most dangerous person in all the Land of Oz.

  Munchkinville was quiet on its final morning as a habitable community. The villagers rose early as usual and went about their business. Farmers and merchants tended their fields and shops. Children played. Parents watched proudly as their wee ones took their first step or mastered a new word. Around ten o’clock something strange happened. An army of straw men marched into town along the Yellow Brick Road.

  They walked in bumbling, stupid silence, their painted-on eyes focused on the road ahead of them. Each scarecrow held a spear or a short sword or a garden implement at the ready.

  “What in the world,” Sheriff Rozzco wondered. “Looks like they’re fixin’ to have a war.” He was standing outside the jail, which had lately returned to its more traditional use as his corncrib. Rozzco was sure that war was out of his jurisdiction, and frankly, he didn’t like the look of th
ese scarecrows. He quickly returned to his work, ignoring the situation as overtly as possible.

  The straw army stopped abruptly when they reached the town square. One of the scarecrows, the Crooked Wizard had called this one General Vapid, began barking orders.

  “You and you, hide over there. You three get behind that wagon. Not you Puck”

  Before long, he had distributed his entire force in small pockets throughout the town. Only Vapid and Puck remained, and they were soon hiding in the alley between The Shady Pig Tavern and The Lamb & Blue Hand dye shop. They were just in time. Not five minutes passed before a palanquin borne by four giants appeared from the east.

  Orpah was fuming mad. The look on her face alone was enough to send Mayor Torin scurrying across town to greet her. The rest of the Munchkins, to their credit, were hiding under tables or peering anxiously through their curtains. It was clear that something had happened, though no one in Munchkinville would have suspected what it was.

  “Queen… Madame….” Torin’s face was bright red, and the armpits of his blue suit were soaked with sweat.

  “Shut up,” snapped the Wicked Witch of the East. She grabbed Mayor Torin’s tie and pulled him close to her. Their foreheads were only an inch apart, and it seemed to everyone watching that she might burn holes in him with her eyes.

  “I got your letter,” Orpah whispered. “Would you care to repeat your sentiments to my face?”

  “I… um, excuse me?”

  Orpah gritted her teeth.

  “You called me a cunt,” she hissed. “And now I’m going to teach you a lesson that you’ll never forget.” Standing up straight, the witch motioned to her giants. The brutes started lumbering toward a nearby house.